by Rachel Lee
Something subtle in his gaze suggested he might be interested in kissing her, too.
Should she make a move? Couldn’t she call it a thank-you kiss?
“Lucas! Jocelyn!” Beverly called through the screen because Lucas hadn’t closed the door on their way in. “Is everything okay?”
“Hey, Mom.” Lucas jumped to attention, letting his mother inside. She’d come with two aluminum-foil-wrapped plates of food that smelled like melted cheese and spices—in other words, heavenly, though food was the last thing on Jocelyn’s mind. As disappointment set in that in her perfect-world fantasy Lucas may have considered kissing her again but had gotten waylaid by his well-meaning mother, Jocelyn tried to look cheery for Mrs. Grady.
“Oh, honey, are you all right?”
“Thanks to your son, I’ll be just fine.”
“I was giving her a lecture on the buddy system and how she shouldn’t be running alone on those cross-country trails,” he said, a mischievous glint in his gaze encouraging her to play along.
“You’ve got a point,” Beverly said. “Good thing Lucas went looking for you. Oh, my God, he was so worried he—”
“Mom.” He cut her off.
Beverly got the point. “You probably shouldn’t stay alone tonight, either. Lucas, she’s probably all shook up, so why don’t you camp out on her couch?”
All shook up was an understatement, but it had more to do with Lucas than the fall.
The thought of Lucas Grady sleeping under the same roof with her had definite appeal, and it made the backs of her knees tingle. Right on, Beverly! I like your plan.
* * *
After they ate the lunch of southwest chicken enchiladas and rice Mom had brought over, Lucas made a point to keep a safe distance from Jocelyn. She looked so damn vulnerable laid up on the couch and, well, he’d come way too close to kissing her before Mom barged in.
He sat in the recliner near the sofa as they watched Jocelyn’s favorite movie, Gladiator. He’d expected her comfort movie would be a chick flick and was surprised when she suggested this one. But Jocelyn was never like the other girls growing up. His sisters were definitely girly-girls, but Jocelyn was fine with whatever. He liked that about her.
Glancing at her dozing off, brown lashes brushing her lower lids, he decided he still liked that she was a “whatever” kind of girl. Well, now a woman. Her lashes fluttered open. Could she feel him watching her?
“I’ve got to use the bathroom,” she said.
“Okay. Let me help you down there.”
Jocelyn sat up, making a grimace, obviously remembering how sore she was. He helped her stand and tucked her close to his waist on the injured side so she could hop along beside him. He’d gotten the impression earlier she didn’t like him carrying her everywhere, though he kind of dug it.
Once she was delivered into the bathroom he waited outside, giving her enough space for privacy.
“Lucas?” she called through the door.
Already? “Yeah.”
“I just remembered I have an old pair of crutches in the attic. Maybe you can get them down, so I won’t have to be so dependent on you?”
He kind of liked having her dependent on him, but he also understood it wasn’t her style. “Good idea. I’ll check it out right now.”
Lucas went to the upstairs hallway and glanced upward at the ceiling trapdoor to the attic. He gave the string a tug, pulled down the attached ladder and made his way into the attic. He quickly found the metal crutches leaning in the corner. They’d need some cleaning up but they were good enough. On his way to get them he noticed an old dresser covered in the track trophies Jocelyn had won back in high school. One had a framed picture with it. The photograph was of the two of them in eleventh grade, all lanky and knobby kneed but grinning wide. It brought back a memory of the semester she’d talked him into training with her, and he’d won a trophy for most improved athlete at the end of year track banquet. He couldn’t remember who seemed prouder, Jocelyn or his parents.
“I’m done!” she called, and he jumped out of memory lane and down the attic ladder and stairs with the crutches in tow to help her back down the hall.
The evening went on in comfortable companionship. He walked her dogs, Diesel and Daisy, while she napped. He cleaned and adjusted the old crutches, then helped her practice walking with them. He fed the dogs for her, and when she gave the okay, he let them into the house. They watched another DVD, a so-so comedy. Bored, he started talking over it.
“I saw all of your trophies in the attic.”
“Oh, those. Mom refuses to get rid of them.”
“Saw a funny picture of you and me holding our trophies, too.”
She made a funny face, eyes wide, as if she’d been caught with a big secret. “Can you believe how skinny I was?”
“Hey, me, too.” He cleared his throat, patted the Lab’s head, then when the golden retriever pushed his head in between him and the other dog, he patted his head, too. “I, uh, wouldn’t have ever won a single trophy if it wasn’t for you. Don’t suppose I ever thanked you.”
“Hey.” She came up on her elbow and looked at him. “You let me get a picture with you. That made my day!”
He shook his head, not understanding what she’d ever seen in him. He’d been nothing but a pain in the butt, disrespectful and a know-it-all back then, yet she’d still liked him. Adored him, even.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said.
“Yeah?” The dogs were now poking their noses everywhere, making themselves pests. She smiled at both of them, and he liked how her eyes curved upward.
“I think you should go for the head coach job at Whispering Oaks.”
“Are you kidding? That’s your father’s job.”
“Dad is getting up in years, and after that awful accident, the truth is he knows he won’t ever be the same. He was just grousing about all the responsibility of running track this morning. I’m thinking if you take the angle of letting him know you’re interested in taking over head coach, he might not feel obligated to continue in the position. It might give him an out, you know?”
“That’s devious!”
“No, it isn’t. It’s communicating with him and letting him know you’re interested in the job. It would be devious to apply behind his back.”
She flopped back on the couch. “I’d never do that. I know you think I’m so ‘can-do,’ but it’s too much for me, Lucas. I’ve barely survived, and now with this sprain, how am I going to finish the year?”
“You’ll find a way. Remember, you really are the can-do girl. What’s the word my dad always uses? Delegate. Assign more responsibility to the other coaches.”
“Why can’t your dad do that, too?” She was back up on her elbow again, looking battered and cute with her ponytail all askew and flopping in her face.
“Believe me, he will. And it bothers the hell out of him not to do everything he used to. What I’m saying is maybe it’s time for the track team to have someone new. Someone like you, who gets excited and is totally supportive of the kids.”
“Your dad does that.”
“New blood. Like you.”
“What would your dad do?”
“He can be the hurdle coach. Or your assistant. Look, I’m sure he’d be happy to stay in the classroom and give up running the whole show. Just think about it, is all I’m saying.”
She lay back down and stared at the ceiling. Both dogs sniffed around her head as she thought. Daisy licked her cheek. “I really don’t want to make your dad upset, but I promise to think about what you’ve said. After I do, I’ll talk to him about it. See how he really feels.”
“All right.” He patted her shoulder and turned the volume back up on the movie. “You need anything?”
“There’re some cookies in the cupboard. Will you bring me a couple?”
Not only did he bring her the cookies but ice cream, too. He liked how she turned the spoon backward and licked off the ice cream like a lollipop. M
aybe he should give her ice cream more often.
They finished watching the movie and found nothing good to watch on TV.
“I should probably go to bed,” she said.
“Let me get you a couple more aspirin so you won’t be achy tonight.”
“Thanks.” She gave him a look that said a lot more than thanks, and he looked away because he liked how it felt. He liked being here with her, doing little things that she appreciated, and he loved how her grateful glances spread over him like melting butter. He liked how he could be as quiet as he wanted or talk—either seemed to be okay with her. He liked looking at her legs, even though they were all banged up. Hell, he liked having an excellent excuse to look at them, too.
He brought her the aspirin and sat on the edge of the couch, handing her the water. She took and swallowed them and returned the glass, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. He made sure her bandages were all in place.
“Seriously, I don’t know what I would have done today without your help.” She touched his arm, sincerity pouring out of her soft brown eyes.
“Hey, that’s what friends are for, right?”
She sat up, her cool hands cupping his cheeks. “Thank you, for everything.”
He was pretty sure she pulled him closer, but he didn’t need to be encouraged. His lips were heading right for her mouth and nothing, not even his mother calling at the front door, was going to stop him this time.
He kissed her gently at first. Making contact with her lips sent a sweet warm ripple over his chin and down his neck. He helped her lay her head back on the pillow. He kept kissing her while she wrapped her arms around his neck, and once he felt the tip of her tongue on the crease of his lips, he angled his head and kissed her deeper. She tasted like warm mint-chip ice cream.
She surprised him by nibbling and tugging on his bottom lip, which revved him up and released a satisfying wave of heat down his center. The kisses got messy, sounds were emitted, heads turned and repositioned, fingers dug into hair and tongues touched and darted, imitating something far more intimate than kissing.
He wrapped his arm around her back and let the other hand roam over her side and hips, enjoying the solid feel of her, moving back up, finding her breast and finally exploring the body he’d been so fascinated with lately. She didn’t disappoint. Soft breast, just enough for his palm, warmed him up and turned him on. When he slipped his fingers beneath her sports bra, she didn’t stop him, instead encouraging him with a moan. Her breast was tight and the nipple erect and all he could think about was putting it in his mouth. He did. Sweet mercy. She whimpered and arched and he realized her nipple wasn’t the only thing erect.
He wanted to undress her right here, dive into her body and explore every inch of her. But most of all, he wanted to be on top of her, to feel her beneath him, and he shifted his position on the couch, threw his leg over her then crawled on top.
“Ouch!” she yelped.
Oh, damn. So lost in the make-out session, he’d forgotten about her banged-up knees and swollen ankle. “I’m sorry.” He rolled off and stood up. “I totally forgot.”
With her hair a mess, lips puffy and pink from their shared kisses and one perky breast on display, Jocelyn smiled up at him. “Give me a couple of days?”
“I totally took advantage of you, Jocelyn. I’m sorry.”
She cocked her head and made an indignant expression. “I’m not.”
Chapter Eight
Lucas stood in the shower letting water pour over his head and face. If he were smart he’d turn the temperature down to cold. He’d hardly slept at all last night, preferring to stay on the couch at Jocelyn’s house, keeping the dogs company as he quietly clicked through the TV cable channels.
What if he’d fallen asleep and had one of his nightmares? What if he’d woken up yelling and sweating and scaring the hell out of Jocelyn? That was the last thing he ever wanted to do. The one and only time it’d happened since he got home, his mother practically had a heart attack thinking someone had broken into the house. When he explained that sometimes he still had battle dreams, she looked so freakin’ worried he wanted to puke.
He turned, rested his forehead against the cold tile and let the water pelt his back. Man, Jocelyn knew how to get him all worked up with her kisses. He shook his head. What the hell was he supposed to do about that? He grabbed a bar of soap and lathered his shoulders, which made him think about his raven tattoos. Where the hell were Hugin and Munin last night? He’d needed his brains and reason then. Jocelyn was the kind of girl a guy got involved with, not a hit-and-run encounter. He had no business messing with her like that, but man...that girl knew how to kiss.
He’d made her a pot of coffee when he first heard her stir upstairs early that morning, calling out, “You okay?” when she got into the shower.
“I’m fine. Thanks!” she’d answered in her usual cheery voice, leaving him with all kinds of steamy images of her naked and wet.
He’d waited to make sure she’d gotten out okay, when he knew she was getting dressed.
“I’ll see you, then.” And he was out of there. He had to leave or he’d be breaking down her bedroom door.
Coward.
He scrubbed his chest and pits with soap. He may as well be honest about it—he was a relationship coward. If you looked at dating as a barter system, which he tended to do, each party was supposed to bring something to the table. She brought looks, personality and a good job. He could only bring a messed-up mind, a stubborn streak and unemployment. Oh yeah, he was a real prize.
After what Joss had gone through with that loser ex-fiancé of hers, the last thing she needed was a guy like Lucas.
He stepped out of the shower and dried off, resolved to avoid Jocelyn and do anything but get involved with her. It was for her own good. She didn’t need a guy like him messing with her mind. She had enough going on these days.
Frustrated, he dried his hair, rubbing too damn hard and nearly giving his scalp rug burn. He’d keep busy, help his dad as usual and then spend the rest of the day working on the car. Installing upholstery was best left to experts, but he was determined to do it himself. Worst case scenario—he’d have to buy new seats. In the meantime, keeping busy nonstop might help him sleep tonight. He definitely needed a good night’s sleep.
As tired as he was by nightfall, he hardly slept Sunday night or Monday. Jocelyn kept flickering on the edge...along with something far more sinister.
* * *
Tuesday afternoon, Lucas tinkered on the Mustang in the garage with heavy metal music blasting from the tinny old radio. He’d reinstalled the bucket seats and now sat on a low stool and waxed the new paint job, getting lost in the routine.
“Hi.”
He turned to find Jocelyn balanced on her crutches, dressed as if she’d just gotten home from teaching. Dark gray slacks covered her injured knees and swollen ankle. She wore a pale gray tank top with a sleeveless sweater and some kind of necklace with big bobble beads. Her arms looked tan and buff holding her up on the crutches, and she’d pulled her hair back into that signature ponytail that swayed when she walked. As if a bucket of blood had been dumped into his gut, he felt the color drain from his face, and he had to make a quick recovery.
“Hey,” he said like nothing bothered him in the universe, especially not the sight of Jocelyn.
She smiled, and though partially shaded, her eyes were bright. She came closer, leaned against the car and tapped him with one of the crutches. “It’s been a couple of days.”
It would have been a lot more if he’d had his way. It had been awkward enough when he had to borrow her van to take Dad for his final cast appointment yesterday. She’d known exactly what he needed and had silently handed him the keys.
“How are those knees and that ankle getting along?”
“I’m doing much better. Thanks.” She must have read his body language because she didn’t look nearly as playful now as when she’d arrived. He needed to keep everythi
ng between them superficial. It was the right thing to do, even though he hated the idea of jacking her around.
“Good. You come to talk to my father about the job?”
She crinkled her nose. “I’m not ready to do that yet.”
“Ah, come on, tell him straight up.” He sounded impatient, gruffer than he’d intended, but he’d hardly slept for days now and he was edgy with exhaustion.
“That’s easy for you to say, Lucas.” The last thing he needed was a challenge.
“Easy for me? Nothing’s easy for me these days.” He threw the rag on the counter and walked toward her. “I can’t sleep. I’m fed up with Mom and Dad hinting I need to start thinking about the future. I don’t give a flying...”
“You don’t have to figure everything out right now. Just concentrate on getting back into a routine.”
He leaned both hands on the car and nailed her with an aggravated stare. “And I don’t need you telling me what to do, either.” He expected her to crumple, but he’d forgotten who he was dealing with—Little Miss Cheerleader. Crap.
She put her free hand on her hip and tossed him another challenging glance. “Quit being a pill. Get over yourself, dude.”
Nearby, a passing motorcycle backfired. It jolted Lucas right down to the nerve endings on the soles of his feet. He grabbed the counter, fight and flight simultaneously kicking in, adrenaline pouring into his chest. He let the F-word fly...a half-dozen times. It was like the track meet all over again. Would this ever end? Grinding his molars, he forced himself to stay perfectly still while his pulse thundered between his ears.
“Are you okay?” He saw the concern in her eyes, the worry. He didn’t need her pity. No way in hell would he let her pity him.